Broken
by Aireon Maris
Summary: Spike comes back for her.


Broken

He took a long draw on the cigarette held in his fingers before flicking it to the pavement and grinding it out beneath his heel. The air around his head blurred as he blew out the smoke. He glared through it at the apartment door. It shouldn't be this hard to walk over and knock. But it had been almost three years since he had last seen her and things could have changed. They tended to do that.

With a faint growl, he pushed away from the railing and strode across the parking lot and banged his fist twice against the door. It cracked open after a minute and he heard a quick, indrawn breath. "Spike?" came a disbelieving whisper.

"Yeah, luv. It's me."

The door swung fully open and he saw her for the first time. Her blonde hair straggled out of a loose ponytail. She wore a too-big t-shirt and a pair of baggy sweats. If he needed to breathe, it would have caught in his throat. She looked like an angel.

"You left," she said, tears pooling in her blue eyes.

"There was a war," he reminded her gently. "But we won. And I came back."

She blinked several times and stepped back. "Come in," she offered. He followed her into the tiny living room. She continued on into the kitchen and returned a moment later with a mug of coffee. "What are you doing here?" she asked. He shrugged fluidly.

"I came to see you. See how you were doing. How the Slayers were holding up."

She made a sound that might have been either a sob or a laugh. "You'll have to keep asking around. I'm not exactly in the loop anymore."

Spike immediately stilled. "What happened?" he demanded. She laughed bitterly.

"I turned twenty-five. Lost the Slayer powers." She put her mug down on the counter with more force than necessary and sloshed hot liquid over her hand. She shook it off, ignoring the pain. "The Council didn't want Slayers lasting as long as I did, so they made sure they wouldn't. I'm nobody now."

He strode over and grabbed her by the shoulders. "That's a load of cobbler's and you know it," he said fiercely. She shook her head and backed away from him.

"What are you here for, Spike?" she asked again. He sighed and rubbed a hand through his platinum-blonde hair.

"I'm here for you. I love you, Buffy," he said softly. "I'll always love you whether you're the Slayer or not. It doesn't matter to me."

"Oh, but it does," she said, tears making her eyes huge and wet. "That's why you want me, isn't it? Because I was the _Slayer_."

"At first," he admitted. "But not now. Not anymore." She snorted and turned her back on him. "Listen to me, Buffy," he said in frustration. "You didn't save the world over and over again because you were the Slayer. You did it because you were Buffy."

She didn't reply, only reaching for a towel to clean up the spilled coffee. As she did, her t-shirt slipped away from her neck, revealing bruises that looked suspiciously like finger-marks. Spike was at her side in a flash.

"Who did this to you?" he demanded, touching the discolored skin gently. Buffy flinched and then went still.

"N-no one," she mumbled. "I-it was an accident."

"Someone choked you by accident?" Spike said caustically. "Tell me who did this."

A key turned in the lock and the door opened behind them. "Buffy?" a male voice called. Spike didn't look away from her face and so caught the brief flash of fear and pain in her eyes.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Spike, without stepping away from Buffy, slowly turned his head to look at the man standing in the living room. "Him?" he demanded. "He hurt you?"

"Buffy, who is he?" the man growled, clenching his fists, dark eyes darting between Spike and Buffy.

"An old friend, Greg," she said softly. "He was just leaving."

"Like hell I was," Spike burst out. "Buffy, are you completely insane? How could you be with someone who hurts you?"

"You did," she spat.

"That was different!" he snapped back. "I didn't have a soul and you could give as well as take."

"And now I can't?" She was sobbing in anger now, shoving ineffectually at his chest. "Now I'm weak and have to be protected? Screw you, Spike. Just get out of here."

"That's right, mister," Greg rumbled, jerking his thumb toward the door. "Get lost."

"Aw, shut up, you bloody wanker," Spike growled, fighting the temptation to vamp out and scare the living crap out of the loser. "Come on." He grabbed Buffy's arm and pushed her in the direction of what he assumed was the bedroom. Ignoring the protests, he found a duffel bag in the closet and began shoving clothes into it.

"What are you doing?" Buffy asked as he pulled her back into the living room.

"You're coming with me," he told her flatly.

"Where?"

"Does it matter? Anywhere but here. I can take care of you, Buffy."

"So can I," Greg yelled, advancing toward the slender vampire. "You get your hands off of her."

Spike abruptly lost what little patience he had. "You first," he said, and slammed his fist into Greg's face. The man dropped without another sound. Spike turned back to Buffy. "Now. You and I are going to walk out that door and we aren't coming back. Understood?"

Her eyes traveled from the unconscious Greg up to Spike's face. She nodded slowly. "Okay."

Spike offered his hand and she took it without hesitation. "Okay," he repeated. He slung the duffel bag over his shoulder and they walked out into the night. "Buffy?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

"I know."


End file.
